


You're not my sunshine anymore

by jenny_wren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Break Up, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4431557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_wren/pseuds/jenny_wren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Okay you're pretty, your face is a work of art. Your smile could light up New York City after dark</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're not my sunshine anymore

**Author's Note:**

> I realized Ugly Heart by G.R.L. was the ultimate Grantaire breaking up with Enjolras song and depressed myself.

Enjolras walked into the entrance hall of their small but luxurious apartment and stopped, aware that something was different to normal even if he wasn’t sure what.

“Grantaire?” he called.

His boyfriend appeared, “Ah, there you are.”

“I did call and tell you I’d be late,” said Enjolras quickly. Grantaire could be so touchy about him missing dinner and he wanted to head off the regular argument before it started.

“I didn’t get the message but I’d assumed that would be the case. It was good, gave me a chance to get everything done.”

“Grantaire?” There was something different about Grantaire too. Usually, even when they were arguing there was softness in the way he looked Enjolras. Enjolras had never realized that until now when all he could see was unyielding stone, 

“R, what’s the matter?”

“I’m gone.” Grantaire shrugged his shoulders and swung his arms uncomfortably, “I’m through.”

“With what?” asked Enjolras stupidly.

“With you.”

Fluttering panic rose up in Enjolras’ chest, “But you can’t be.” He rushed forward and clutched hold of Grantaire’s arms to keep him there.

Grantaire stared up at him, “Weird. I thought this part would be hard, but you’re as pretty as you ever were - and I don’t care.”

“What are you talking about?” Enjolras shook him lightly.

Grantaire pulled free from his grip and walked away. Enjolras stared, Grantaire never walked away from him.

“I don’t understand.”

He shrugged again, “I guess you wouldn’t.”

Enjolras was starting to get angry, “I don’t understand,” he repeated. “You agreed to our arrangement, why are you backing out now.”

“Yes, yes I did. I agreed we could stay in the closest so you political career wouldn’t be defined by gay issues. I agreed you could date women to keep us in the closest. I even agreed to watch you marry a woman so you’d look good in the tabloids – and that broke my heart.” 

Grantaire turned his head away for a moment and sighed heavily before continuing, 

“I agreed to everything because I understood that, although it came in a poor third or fourth, our relationship did actually matter to you.”

“Of course it does. So what’s the problem?” Enjolras demanded, ignoring the reference to a broken heart with the ease of long practice. He needed to be seen to have a standard family setup if he was to progress to the highest levels, that was just the way things were. Grantaire would adjust, he always did.

“I met her today, you know?” 

Enjolras groaned at the irrelevancy, his boyfriend was always, always, going off on random tangents, “Who?” 

“Octavia Clynthorpe.” And at Enjolras’ continued confusion, he added, “Your fiancée in case you’ve forgotten her name.”

“I know who my fiancée is,” he snapped, “but what has this got to do with you. You can’t possibly be jealous?” Octavia was as unlike Grantaire as it was possible to be and Enjolras had to grit his teeth to sit through the endless babble of her conversation.

“No,” denied Grantaire, “Funnily enough I’m not jealous at all. I feel very sorry for her.”

“What? Why? She’s getting exactly what she wants, an entire room of clothes and shoes, a house upstate she’s currently redecorating in frills and flounces, and a big society wedding she can boast to all her friends about.”

“No.” Grantaire looked dreadfully sad, “She thinks she’s getting what she wants, a handsome prince to make all her dreams come true. Instead all she’s getting is you.”

“I just told you I, well my parents, are paying for all her dreams to come true.”

“She’s in love with you, you idiot.” Grantaire roared, abruptly spinning away from him and slamming his fists into the wall.

“So you are jealous.” Enjolras crept closer, resting one hand on the tense muscle of Grantaire’s neck. “R you don’t need to be, she’s nothing. She has no interest in politics, she doesn’t understand how the people at the bottom struggle. She’s a spoilt princess. I don’t even like her. She’s nothing.”

Grantaire pulled away from his touch, turning to stare at him. His face was pinched white and very, very angry.

“R?” Enjolras asked cautiously, still not understanding what was wrong.

Grantaire grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked him forward until their faces were almost touching. He spoke low and fierce,

“She’s an overly-sheltered twenty-two year old who hasn’t even left college yet and is kind to wait staff, tipping them too generously because her fiancé explained to her how they rely on tips to make up their wages and she feels guilty about all the times she short-changed them because she didn’t understand.”

“Oh well good. I’m glad something I said sunk in.” 

The punch wasn’t hard but it was so unexpected he tripped over his own feet and stumbled to the floor.

“Grantaire?” 

“That was for Tavy. She’s in love with you, you bastard. She hangs off your every word. She worries about how hard you work. She’s currently struggling through Thomas Paine so she’ll have something to talk to you about. She loves you.”

Enjolras shifted onto his knees and slipped on his conviction face, looking right up into Grantaire’s eyes, “Grantaire, you have to know that _you_ are the one I love.”

“Yeah, yeah I do, that’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s also the problem. It doesn’t matter though, I’m gone.”

“You can’t go. I love you.”

“But I don’t love you. I can’t ever have loved you, because the man I loved…” Grantaire’s voice shattered as he choked on his words and what sounded like tears. He took two rasping breaths, then ground out, “People aren’t just tools for you to use.”

“You’ve never been a tool to me,” Enjolras protested desperately, “Grantaire, you have to believe me.”

“I do believe you. That’s not the point. Goodbye Ap- Enjolras.”

Enjolras closed his eyes against the pain of the broken off endearment. He looked up again at the click of the door. Grantaire was already gone.


End file.
